


Useful

by V_e_s_a_n_u_s



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anders' Electricity Trick, Complete, Eventual Smut, Hawke was listening, Healing, Implied Fenris/Hawke, Lyrium, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Brands, M/M, Serious Injuries, Sex Magic, Smut, Snarky Hawke, Wall Sex, uh oh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_e_s_a_n_u_s/pseuds/V_e_s_a_n_u_s
Summary: After Hawke is injured in a fight, Fenris brings him to his least favourite healer. They get a little... sidetracked when Anders gets too low on lyrium.(Smut in later chapters ☉▵☉)





	1. Chapter 1

“Mage.” 

Anders’ groggy eyes looked up from the scattered pages in front of him on the small table at the side of his clinic. He hid his grimace (poorly) as his eyes met the sharp, green gaze of  _ that _ elf. His face slackened into shock immediately when he saw who was draped over his shoulder. 

“Sweet Andraste!” he cried, jumping up. A page of his manifesto was pushed off the desk in his haste fluttered gently to the ground. “Hawke -  _ Maker _ \- what happened?” 

Hawke has his arms slung over Fenris’ shoulder, hunched up and Maker was he bleeding. His arm was bent at the elbow, clearly held there to prevent further damage to his lower arm, where he sported a nasty compound fracture. His head was bleeding out of a gash on his forehead and the man was limping, as in full on hopping into the clinic, and Anders could see drops of blood falling onto the brown floor from where they ran down his leg in rivulets. 

He was in a bad shape. And to top it off, he was delirious. 

“We- Anders listen-“ Hawke said as Anders helped Fenris get him over to the table. The man winced with every step. “Liiisten!” 

Anders looked to Fenris again. “What happened?”

Hawke piped up again with a singsong voice. “Andeee we tried to squish a bug… but-but it-“ he was cut off with a laugh and another groan from the pain in his side. “The bug squished me instead!” Anders’ eyebrows furrowed as he helped him lie down. “Am I a bug too?” 

“A Varterral.” Came the clipped voice of Fenris beside him. “Near the Dalish camp.”

“Fen, you’re preetty. Did you know that? Is because your eyes are so big!” He lifted his hands up to mimic the large eyes, so out of it that he forgot about his wrist and he yelped in agony. A few spurts of blood oozed out beside the white bone protruding from his skin. 

“Hawke. You’ve got to stay still.” 

“Fenris.” The man put on a grouchy face, copying the elf in front of him, pain almost immediately forgotten. “Look Fenris,  _ look _ , I hurt myself.” The elf grit his teeth. “But that’s okay because you see that guy?” He gestured vaguely with his healthy arm. “He’s gonna help me.”

Anders was preparing salves and retrieving poultices, rushing around the room like a madman, muttering aloud. “You’re a  _ mage _ , Hawke, how did you even get close enough for this to happen?” He scooped some supplies into his arms and made his way quickly back to the table. “Because you’re a blithering idiot who charges headfirst into fights. You’re supposed to fight at a  _ range _ !” 

Fenris stepped out of his way and eyes Hawke warily, ready to stop him causing further harm to himself. Hawke caught him looking and stage/whispered to him. “Fenris! Did you know Anders has another blue person inside him?” The mage stiffened beside him. “Sometimes he comes out and tries to hurt little gi-“ 

Anders snapped his fingers and the man fell unconscious. Fenris flared his nostrils. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was the healer here. Please, by all means, try to stitch him up with that commentary going.” Anders snapped, as he cast a cold spell around the man’s wrist, to restrict the blood vessels there and stave off some of the bleeding. Had the man not been bleeding out in front of him, he’d probably have cocked a hip and rested his hand upon it, snarkily awaiting a reply. Since he was, he just ignored the elf and moved on. “Have to reset the bone.” He murmured softly. “Up and left.” 

He flitted around the table, brushing past the elf who stepped back again, to position himself at the man’s wrist. His jaw clenched and he not-so-carefully pulled on his arm, until he could snap it back into place with a tug. Even unconscious, Hawke was frowning and whimpering like his dog when denied a treat. He summoned a rejuvenating spell and concentrated, as he felt the flesh knit its way together. 

Fenris watched him warily from behind, grinding his teeth as he watched the magic be used on the man. He felt… he felt in the way. He knew he should probably leave but was unsure of leaving Hawke unattended with the abomination. Gingerly, he stepped back and rested against one of the pillars behind him, holding his side where he, too, was injured in the fight. It was rare for him to sustain an injury that couldn’t be healed by a few elfroot potions and a few more bottles of wine. He was sure he was overreacting - especially given the state of Hawke right now. 

Anders’ brow was furrowed as he completed the spell, the blue-white magic dissipating in the soft breeze coming in through the still-open door. He swayed softly, holding the table edge for support. His gaze travelled up Hawke, assessing his other injuries as he recovered from the abrupt mana loss. The next most intensive wound was on his leg. 

He almost limped to the desk beside him, where, amongst various other tools, he found a pair of scissors. He was dizzy, gripping the side of the desk again. 

**“You need lyrium.”** he heard Justice in his head. 

“I don’t exactly have any lyrium on me right now,” Anders thought back at him with an edge to his tone, turning back to the unconscious man on his table. “Hawke needs me.”

Fenris would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the sway in the mage’s step, but he’d also be lying if he said he cared. He watched the man cut away Hawke’s leathered trousers to expose the nasty wound near his knee. Fenris stared for a moment at the wound, and his eyes snapped to Hawke’s unconscious face. For the first time since the Varterral had appeared, Fenris was worried. 

“You know,” said Anders, his voice cutting through the silence with only a slight crack, “You could actually help out.” Before the elf could mutter his distaste, he continued. “There are some herbs over there. If you could put those warrior muscles to use and grind them together, you could stop the bleeding on his head.” 

Fenris had made a pact with himself, the moment he was free from Danarius, to not obey the word of a mage ever again. He was fully intent on keeping that promise, especially by not taking orders from the abomination, but something was tugging on the edge of his conscience as he remained still. The mage wasn’t telling him to do something for himself and his own gain: he was asking him to help Hawke. Hawke, who Fenris... well, it was Hawke. 

He covered the ground quickly, without a word, and looked at the plants and roots in front of him. A large pestle and mortar laid next to them.    
  
“Crush the elfroot, then the spindleweed, and mix them. Then the crystal grace needs to be squeezed over the mixture, and use the dew to bind the mixture.” Anders stopped talking and looked up again, and Fenris was still just standing in front of the herbs. “Did you get all that or do you need me t-”   
  
“Cease your blathering, mage.” He snapped, picking up the elfroot. “Don’t you have bleeding to stop?”

“Bleeding elf,” Anders muttered under his breath as he dug deep, summoning the last of his mana to cast another spell over the gash in the man’s leg. 

Fenris, frowning the entire time, followed the instructions diligently. It was silent in the clinic, save from the quiet hum of the restorative magic behind him that made his hairs stand up. He could feel it, even from across the room, and it thrummed in time with the lyrium burned into his skin. He crushed the bell-shaped blue flowers above the mixture he’d made before him, watching the droplets drip into the mixture slowly, one by one. The poultice he had made looked in no way appealing - mostly brownish green, and now wet and sticky. He mixed it a bit more before turning back to Hawke. 

Anders didn’t look up from where he was concentrating on Hawke’s leg, but with a slightly weak, faraway voice he said, “Just rub it around the wound, then pack it with the leaves until I can get to it.” 

Fenris nodded curtly and positioned himself next to the mage and focused on Hawke’s head. He removed his gauntlets and put his lyrium-lined hand into the mixture. 

Justice noticed and prickled in the corners of Anders’ mind.  **“You need that lyrium.”**

Anders concentrated further, putting his all into the spell. “I’m concentrating: do you mind?”

Fenris glanced over, irritated. “I’m doing what  _ you _ told me to do! Don’t-”

“Oh, I-I wasn’t-” Anders’ eyes darted up and then back down to his work. “I wasn’t talking to you. Sorry.” 

Fenris narrowed his eyes, wanting to snap but feeling too tired to push it. His side was beginning to get more painful, and he knew he’d have to go find some more elfroot potions once Hawke was safe. He finished quickly and placed a couple of elfroot leaves onto the poultice, and it stuck to the sticky substance and held in place. 

Anders was swaying again, mana reserves dangerously low, but he only had a little more to do with the wound in front of him. He took a moment to catch his breath and glanced up to see Fenris was done, and just standing there. “You can add it to his wrist as well: it’ll help stop infection.” 

“The same poultice?” Came the reply, upfront and challenging. Anders saw through that: the elf was worried he’d do something wrong, and he didn’t want to hurt Hawke. Cute. 

“Yeah,” he replied, stretching his fingers and turning back to Hawke’s knee, ready to finish. “You’d be surprised at how useful it is.” 

Fenris rolled his eyes, and moved down to Hawke’s wrist, almost touching the abomination as they worked side by side. Fenris was, of course, incredibly aware of this. His skin felt heated, almost burning to be that close to the man. It was hatred burning under his skin at the proximity and the lyrium singing and scorching in time with the soft ebb of magic from beside him. He rubbed the elfroot onto Hawke’s wrist stiffly. 

He hadn’t quite realised, but the poultice itself had a soothing effect on his own hands. They were relaxed and cool, and unlike the elf they belonged to, felt incredibly at ease. The mixture had separated by now, the chunks of leaf and plant sitting beneath the oily mixture. Fenris half-turned to apply some more to Hawke’s wrist and maybe stir it again to mix the two layers once more. 

Anders was just finishing on the wound on Hawke’s head, the cut closing nicely, when he suddenly veered left. His mana was so low, he was so exhausted; he could barely stay  _ conscious _ , let alone upright. His head span and he collapsed.


	2. Chapter 2

_Anders was just finishing on the wound on Hawke’s head, the cut closing nicely, when he suddenly veered left. His mana was so low, he was so exhausted; he could barely stay_ conscious _, let alone upright._ His head span and he collapsed, but the elf had snapped around at the disturbance, and he caught him by the arm, instinctively.

Anders outright groaned at the contact (something he would vigorously deny later), but he could feel Fenris’ bare, lyrium-lined hand through his clothes. His heart hammered and he felt like he could hear it, singing to him. Or to Justice, who has resorted to simply saying “ **NEED.** ”

Fenris dropped him at the sound, shocked that he’d even helped in the first place but the noise startled him. Anders was on the floor now, breathing shallowly and looking pale. Fenris didn’t care - he  _didn’t -_ but it was a worrying sight.

A hoarse, small voice begged to him, “Pleas-please, _please-_ “ he repeated as he shuffled pitifully closer to Fenris, grasping at his clothing to pull himself more upright, as if to save some semblance of dignity despite his outright begging. " _Please,_ ”

Fenris was shocked, standing there rigidly and confused. “You need… lyrium?” He surmised, “Where do you keep it?” He tugged his leg free and Anders collapsed back to the floor as he turned and surveyed the room. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t help the man - they had such a bitter rivalry that it was difficult for Fenris to find a reason to - but Anders was in this state because he was helping Hawke. He wasn’t irresponsible, he was just helping.

The elf took a step towards the table where he prepared the poultice a few minutes ago but a hand was on his ankle again. He looked down, and the mage was still lying there but with this pitiful hand extended towards him, and the constant mantra of “please” falling from his lips.

Fenris stood still for a moment, confused as to why the man’s mana wasn’t regenerating. Did the demon affect his regeneration somehow? He didn’t know. He’d never seen a mage so broken just because of low mana before - then again, most of the mages he knew had lyrium to hand at every available opportunity. And by to hand, he meant in one of their slaves’ hands, or indeed his own.

“None left-“ he heard from the mage.

“Well then what do you want me t-“ Fenris shifted uncomfortably. “Oh.”

The mage pulled himself closer to his legs, straining, lifting his weary and delirious face to look up at those green eyes - his vision tunnelled and he could see only green. “Please.” He made out again.

Fenris was torn: he couldn’t very well leave him like this. He did hate the man but he was not his enemy. He glanced over to Hawke, who may still need healing. His wounds were mostly healed and he seemed as if he would recover when conscious, but with help. Help that the mage would be unable to provide in this state. And Hawke… Hawke was Fenris’ priority right now. He grit his teeth in frustration. “Fine.”

He sank down to his knees and sat next to the mage, who he lifted up and propped against the table for support. He hated this - he always had when Danarius has done it - he just felt so _used_. It left him feeling empty and it hurt. His eyebrow was furrowed and he braced himself as he simply presented his lyrium lined hand to Anders and simply said “Lick.”

Anders didn’t need to be told twice, and with as much energy as he could muster, he gripped Fenris’ hand and set his mouth down around one of the thick white lines that lined his palm. He groaned again as the white-hot pleasure shot through his brain, lighting up all of his senses. Everything was sharper, brighter. He could taste the cool metallic taste of the lyrium intensely, and smell the thick coppery scent in the air from Hawke. Everything was heightened, and his mind was bright, clear, and delirious, but focused.

He sensed sharp contentment from Justice, feeling only a strong thought of “ **Home** ”, but he could feel him getting agitated: he wanted to take action. He wanted more of that feeling, that song, that lyrium that sang of the Fade and magic and brightness and he needed _more_. And so Anders acted on this, licking eagerly along the line up his palm and up a finger, sucking on the end.

Fenris let out a gasp. This was different. Usually, when people touched his markings it was a hot, burning pain that made his skin crawl - and it very rarely happened anyway. That only tended to be brief brushes during fights, where a shade would crash into him head-first or lash at his bare underarms, but he knew it was a lot worse with Danarius, or indeed, Hadriana. What he knew, was that it was never like _this_.

It was still hot, heated underneath Anders’ cool tongue, but it was this burning _pleasure_. His hand was tingling under the attention, spreading up his arms along the lyrium lines. He panted softly, heart pounding loudly in his ears as he watched the mage suck on the pad of his finger. Enraptured and curious, he lit up his tattoos, just to see the reaction.

He was not disappointed with the result.

Anders whimpered and melted onto him, trying to get as close as possible to all that lyrium. The mage was lying half in Fenris’ lap, sighing around his finger. His mana had replenished but he was close to passing out for another reason. He was so warm and he was buzzing, Justice tingling inside of him.

And he certainly did _not_ whine when Fenris’ tattoos stopped glowing. “Mage-” Anders also didn’t try to snatch his hand back when Fenris withdrew it from his lips. “Anders-” Fenris sighed, as he shifted, but Anders was back, nuzzling at his hand. “Look at me.”

Big, sad and golden eyes looked up at him and Fenris shook his head to clear it: trying to remember the situation, Maker, even his relationship with the man in front of him, through the haze of everything that just happened. And- _Hawke_.

He glanced up in a frenzy to the table, where Hawke was still unconscious. “Hawke’s still injured.”

“H-Hawke is fine,” Anders said weakly, clearing his throat halfway through. He blinked his way through the blurriness that clouded his vision, without the precision of the lyrium heightening his senses. “The only thing I can do for him now is accelerate the healing to reduce scarring,” He looked back at Fenris’ hand, watching those lines recede beneath his cuffs. “And you know how much Hawke loves his scars.”

Fenris was dubious for a moment, but as his eyes travelled over the man on the table, he could see that there were no open cuts anymore, just partially healed scabs. He rubbed the back of his neck with his still-gauntleted hand. “Okay,” he glanced away, and without the heady rush of Anders on his tattoos, he was becoming more of himself again. “I will leave him in your care, mage.”

He made as if to stand but Anders caught him on his breastplate. “Stay.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you have forgotten, mage, but we are not on the best of terms.” He shifted more and half-stood, subtly rearranging himself in his smalls, unaware that he was hard. “You would do nothing but regret it.”

Anders was still clinging to him, and stood alongside him. “Listen to-”

“You do not want this, mage,” Fenris grit his teeth. The mage only wanted the lyrium lining his skin, nothing more.

“I’m telling you I do.”

In anger, he grabbed the mage’s collar and pinned him to the table behind him, snarling with his tattoos lighting again, “I said-“

But the mage was melting against him once more, longing to take that hand again but still aware enough that it could be suicidal with Fenris in this state.

Fenris paused at that. The mage’s arousal clearly stemmed from the high he got off of the lyrium, but the elf couldn’t deny he was riding that same high. And if this was a fight for pleasure and nothing more, at least they both had something to bargain with.

He glanced down once more to Hawke on the table. Three years and their relationship hadn’t advanced - and maybe it never would - so he wasn’t exactly betraying him. Regardless of his feelings for Hawke… well, this wasn’t about feelings, anyway.

He ground his teeth again and his eyes snapped back to Anders.


	3. Chapter 3

_He ground his teeth again and his eyes snapped back to Anders._ The mage was still trembling and pressed flush against him, feeling the lyrium even through his armour. Even as they dimmed, Anders could feel the ever-present tingle, raising the hairs on his arms.

The elf snarled and picked the Anders up, and for a second he was weightless, falling, flying, before his legs wrapped around his waist in an instant. He revelled in the closeness of their bodies, and groaned to feel the barely contained erection beneath him. He ground his hips softly as Fenris carried him to his room at the back of the clinic, earning a growl in his ear.

Fenris slammed the mage up against the wall and pinned him there with his hips, then taking his hands and pinning them above his head too. It knocked the breath out of the suspended healer, along with sending a chill of arousal down his spine, who tightened his legs around the elf.

They stayed that way for a moment, panting. Anders was completely vulnerable, blushed and wholly willing. Fenris’ cold stare pierced him and Anders couldn’t find that disapproval as anything other than hot. So he leaned in and claimed those lips for the first time.

Anders’ lips were soft and his tongue was sinful and Fenris couldn’t help but think he’d had a lot of practice. But the elf didn’t want romance and soft kisses. His mouth clashed against then man’s, tongue warring between them, and biting at his lips.

He didn’t stop until Anders’s lips were red, his breathing was heavy, and he was moaning into the kisses.

He released his hands for a moment and the mage almost leapt towards him, hands landings either side of his face and mouth hungry on his. Anders gently stroked his long ears, lightly passing over them with whispers of strokes and Fenris was shivering, to the point where Anders could _feel_ him harden further under him.

Fenris put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, lips parting and Anders’ hands fell from his head. He tried to hide the fact he was breathing hard but Anders saw, and he knew. “You’re not my first elf,” the man said with a smirk, and their eyes locked for another moment, and then Fenris’ hands fell to his robes, and started to undo the buckles.

Or he tried to anyway.

After a moment of trying, and failing, he looked up hopelessly, and Ander rolled his eyes, before moving to help him, murmuring something about killing the mood. Fenris didn’t remove all of his clothes, just the metal plates that might pose an issue later on and gently tossed them aside. He helped Anders remove his pauldrons and tossed his robes to the side.

The split second his was topless, Fenris started biting and sucking along his collarbone, pausing briefly, forming a nice, purpling bruise.

“A wolf, indeed,” Anders whined and tossed his head back against the cold wall behind him as Fenris moved to the other collarbone and tweaked his nipple roughly. He buried a hand in that soft, white hair and thumbed his ear gently and the elf growled against his skin.

“Shall we move this to the bed?” He asked breathlessly, gesturing to his small cot in the corner, as Fenris’ hands beelined towards his leggings.

“No.” Came the reply.

“But don’t you-“

“I said _no_ .” Fenris’ eyes snapped up and Anders’ breath cut short as he saw the fiery passion in those green eyes and everything about them told him to just _do as he said_. And Maker, he wanted to.

The elf pulled Anders’ leggings down, and his smalls with them, and he stepped out of them quickly. He grabbed the collar of Fenris’ gambeson and brought him close to whisper in his ear. “So, you’ve got me,” Fenris grabbed his hands and pressed them into the wall again. “What are you going to do with me?” Anders leant back to look him in the eye.

Fenris narrowed his eyes and snarled, “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Mhmm, I’m counting on it,”

“Shut up,” he replied without heat, before releasing his wrists and stepping back. “Wait here.” And then he left.

Anders was left breathing heavy against the wall in shock. But, as he was told, he stayed there because… well, because he didn’t want to go anywhere besides here: well, that and he lived here, so he didn’t really have anywhere to go. Not that he wanted to, Maker no.

He could hear Fenris’ footsteps and then he came back in, with one of his mortars. He raised an eyebrow.

“We needed lube. I assumed you didn’t have any.”

“No, I’m not in the habit of sleeping with my clients, Fenris,”

He snorted and dipped his fingers into the oily mixture. Anders peaked to see what it was, and spying the leafy debris at the bottom of the mixture he chuckled.

“Is that the poultice you made earlier?” The mage shook his head in disbelief with a lopsided grin.

“You’d be surprised at how useful it is,” he mimicked Anders’ voice dryly. He pushed him back against the wall and lifted the mage’s thigh. Fenris pushed a slick finger between his cheeks and rubbed gently on his taint. “Are you ready?” He nodded and Anders’ back arched as he pressed his finger in.

The mage shivered for a moment, before thin blue lines cracked their way across his body and his eyes lit up white. Fenris was shocked and receded quickly, recognising the presence of the spirit, but Justice gripped him by the arms and pinned _him_ to the wall instead.

“ **Elf**.” He said in a deep voice with Anders’ kiss-plumped lips. “ **Anders may enjoy submitting to you, but I do not.** ” His tone was clipped and insensitive, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was still half-panting. “ **And while I’m here,** **_you_ ** **are not on top.** ”

Justice lifted the elf’s lithe form higher on the wall, bringing the half mixed poultice closer to him and covering his fingers in it. He lightly scratched Fenris’ entrance with the pads of his fingers and the elf shuddered.

It was hard to deny that he was still aroused, especially with the added stimulation and as Justice slid a finger in _oh so nicely_. But before him was everything he hated about the Mage: the abomination. And he was not going to submit to this fade spirit: he wanted the control he didn’t have for so many years as a slave, and deep down, he wanted the abomination to suffer. But it was getting hard to think straight as the fingers wiggles inside him.

It was as those probing fingers found his prostate and his tattoos lit up uncontrollably that he found his way out.

“ **Aah** -ah, Fenris,” The Fade spirit fizzled away with the overexposure to the lyrium, and Anders could feel him singing in the corner of his mind he reserved for Justice. He realised his fingers were still deep in the elf and he wiggled them with a smirk.

“Not today, mage,” Fenris pulled the hand out of him, smirking at the lewd slurping sound as he pushed Anders back against the wall once more. He recoated his fingers in the makeshift lubricant and the corner of his mouth quirked up, “It somehow makes it sweeter to know he’s somewhat unwilling in this.” He span Anders around and kicked his ankles apart, and the healer pressed his forehead and hands against the cold stone eagerly, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure you deserve to enjoy this.”

“But I will,”

“But you will.”


	4. Chapter 4

_“I’m not sure you deserve to enjoy this.”_

_“But I will,”_

“But you will,” he pushed a finger again into his asshole, and, finding it more pliant than before, quickly added a second. He scissored his fingers and stretched the mage out as he whimpered pathetically into the stone.

“Quit teasing,” he murmured, “I’m not made of glass!”

“That you are not,” he spread his fingers again and added more lube, “but I’m not going to hurt you or myself for some twisted pain fantasy _you_ have.” He leaned closer, pressing Anders closer to the wall with his body. “If I hurt you,” he whispered in his ear, “it will be on _my_ terms.”

Anders whimpered and the elf continued to prep him, slowly. He found it too much, and too little all at the same time. His cock was hard, mostly untouched and yet he was dripping. He reached a hand down to do something about the unending torture but Fenris slapped his hand away.

Fenris then removed his fingers from his ass, slowly, and it felt as if it was trying to suck him back in. And Maker if that wasn’t hot. He slicked himself up, _useful indeed,_ he chuckled softly and lined up with the gaping hole before him, enraptured as it fluttered with Anders’ heartbeat.

“Are you ready?” He growled, running the tip of his dick up and down his crack.

The mage panted his response, “I’ve been ready sinc- ah!”

Fenris cut off his snarky reply has he pushed in, groaning as that tight heat enveloped his cock. He didn’t stop slowly entering until his hips met Anders’ ass, his balls grazing his upper thighs. And then he just stood there, flush against the man with his cock rooted deeply inside him.

Anders was gasping: he wanted, no _needed_ more. He knew it was pointless begging - Fenris had proven that already. But that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Fenris- oh Maker, please do _something_!” He pushed his hips back, but Fenris stilled the movement and he groaned. “Move, you blighted elf! Flaming- would you do something?!” He groaned in frustration and his palms slapped against the wall.

Fenris’ control was wearing thin, but he did like to see the mage squirm. He didn’t count on seeing the cracks form on Anders’ hands once more and the deep voice of the spirit echo once more in the small room.

“ **I-** " In a panic, Fenris was ashamed to admit, he lit up his tattoos again and the body whined and his head fell back onto Fenris’ shoulder. He was shocked to still see Justice staring back at him through blissed-out eyes.

“I rather enjoy being in control.” Fenris muttered to him and the spirit’s face lit up in amusement.

“ **I wouldn’t call you ‘in control'** ,” the voice rang out with a smirk, and before Fenris could respond or even shape his worried thoughts, Justice was moving. Fenris’ eyes widened as he felt that tight heat he was buried in get tighter as he fluttered his hole and ground against him.

What patience Fenris’ had suddenly ran out as he pushed the mage’s body forward and fucked into that warm channel with wild abandon. He gripped Anders’ hips, fingers digging deep and he hoped they left bruises so the healer would remember _who_ did this to him.

Justice was still clenching around the cock that was being repeatedly rammed into him, so Fenris somehow sped up, to fuck him into submission and then the sweetest sound left Anders’ lips in an ecstatic yelp.

All it took was that extra force and a slight tear as Fenris’ cock drove in deep and then pure bliss. Anders could feel that delicious lyrium line on the elf’s cock as the lyrium hit his bloodstream from deep inside and everything was singing. Anders couldn’t stop writhing the second he took control and his eyes faded back.

“Oh-ohh,” he groaned as Fenris kept pounding him. The elf paused for a moment to get a better stance, then he thrust back in at a different angle and then he was moaning with every thrust as that cock pummelled his prostate. “Ah- _right there_ , Maker, _Fenris,_ please! Harder, har- yes, yes!”

It was hard to focus on anything but the sheer pleasure stemming from the lyrium alone, but distantly he could feel his back arching and he was so incredibly close that it hurt. One of his twitching hands dropped down from the wall in front of him but Fenris snarled again from behind him, and his hand stilled. His mind was foggy and faraway but he had to do _something_. His hand lifted above his head and settled in the elf’s hair, leaving only one hand braced against the wall to stop Fenris from slamming him into it.

What he was about to do next was either going to be him killed or rewarded, and in that delirious state, as long as it was by Fenris’ gorgeous lyrium-lined hands, he really didn’t care which.

He wound his hands carefully around the white strands in his fist, leaving his fingertips barely grazing his scalp and the tips of his ears. He concentrated, through the pleasure and the singing lyrium and Justice crying out from the recesses of his mind, and summoned a small amount of lighting in his hand, holding it there for a moment, the static raising Fenris’ hair on end, and then released it over the elf.

The slight tingle he felt before had him worried in that split second, he knew it was magic and he knew he should rip the man’s head off but the sensation afterwards… how could he? The shocks spread as heat and cold in his blood, pooling in his cock but also shot along his lyrium veins, and he could feel so much _more_. He thrust harder into the Anders’ hole as the shocks tingled through him, causing the mage to yelp higher.

“I’m close,” he warned, upping his pace once more, the muscles in his thighs aching.

“Yes - do it, do it inside me- please, oh please!” Fenris’ cock got impossibly harder and tensed inside the man, his balls drawing up, but he was determined to make the mage come first.

He dropped a hand and gripped the man’s cock with a lyrium-lined fist. “Come for me, mage.” He growled in his ear, and Anders followed the order after just a few strokes, immediately sending more shocks throughout the elf. His eyes were flicking back and forth between light and gold, but all Justice or he could see was stars and feel the scalding pleasure race down their spine as Fenris continued to plunge into him.

Fenris groaned as he felt the shocks once more, and feeling Anders clench around him and he was coming too with a roar. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his tattoos lit up again as he came inside his pulsing ass. He thrust a few more times as he came down, making the most of the tightness.

Anders was keening and writhing, high on overstimulation of Fenris still gliding over his abused prostate and the lyrium setting his every nerve ending on fire. The elf slipped out and his tattoos dimmed once more, now that he had full control of himself. They panted, pressed up against each other like that for a while until their breathing had calmed.

“Well, that was… something.” Anders said, turning around, pink in the face and hair bedraggled. “Something good, mind you. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

Fenris did little but roll his eyes and give a soft smile, before clearing his throat. “Do you have a cloth or some-”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Anders said and Fenris raised an eyebrow and tensed as the Mage summoned and passed a spell over them both.

Fenris looked down to find himself clean, glancing back at the wall to find no white streaks where Anders had come either. “And what spell is that? And who _teaches_ that spell?” He chuckled softly.

“Oh it’s quite useful in my day job,” Anders said conversationally, his voice only cracking slightly, as if he hadn’t just been fucked against the wall of his clinic. He started putting his robes back on and Fenris redressed as well. “For patients you need to clean up, remove blood and sorts. And of course, it has other applications…” he grinned.

They dressed in silence for a moment, until Fenris mumbled, “This changes nothing between us.”

It wasn’t as if Anders had hoped for anything else: he felt as much animosity towards the elf as the elf did to him. He sighed, “I know.” He tugged on his boots, “But if I happen to find myself low on lyrium-”

Fenris gave an almost imperceptible smile and a half nod, “You know where to find me.” Anders straight up beamed in response. This was going to be fun.

They walked out of his back room together and froze.

“Sounds like you two were having fun,” Hawke was slurring from where he was sitting on the table, with a bottle of alcohol in his uninjured hand. “Maybe you should ask me to join next time instead of leaving me injured in the next room. I’m always up for hate sex.”

Fenris baulked, cheeks flaming for probably the first time in his life. “No, I- we…”

“Hawke, where did you- Hawke that is not for drinking!” Anders shouted, taking the bottle off of him.

“It’s alcohol, isn’t it?” Hawke wobbled a bit, “Certainly _feels_ like alcohol.”

“Argh, I use it as a disinfectant,” he sighed, putting it back on one of his shelves with a stunned smile. “If a delirious Hawke wasn’t enough, now we have a drunk Hawke! What a delight!” Hawke toasted with an invisible cup and Anders shook his head. “Let’s take a look at you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for now: I hope you guys enjoyed it! XD  
> Let me know if you have the time :)


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